Aftermath
by Calmer of the Storm
Summary: This is what happened after, the scraping together of survival and existence in light of all that we have been through. Everything has changed but that's okay, because it is here that we find ourselves; in the aftermath.
1. Chapter 1

Calmer of the Storm: Okay…so I've jumped on the Hunger Games bandwagon, I'll admit. I was not actually all that keen to write about it, but then this hit me and I decided I'd give it a shot. I've got a few chapters written already; if it goes well I might write more. All up to you guys…and if I get hit with any random inspiration, hahaha. Enjoy!

**Aftermath**

To say that life has been easy would be a complete understatement, though I suppose it's much easier now that the Games are done. At least it will be, for future generations; I feel as though ours has been lost forever. The scars mar all of us too deeply for any real healing to occur. I never thought I'd long for the old days, but sometimes I do. Not only for the people that were lost, that's just a given, but for the part of me that was lost. For the part of Katniss that I'll never get back. She's still the Girl on Fire and I'm still the Boy with the Bread, but I do envy her some. She's left Katniss Everdeen behind forever and in her place stands Katniss Mellark. A simple name chance, perhaps, but with a name comes identity and where she has been allowed to shed hers I must bear mine forever. Mostly I don't mind it, but I do when I am forced to recall the reason why I want the old days back. The days when I was innocent to the world; stale bread seems almost a delicacy to me now. It's a reminder of the things I had and have lost. My family. My friends. My sanity. The mind is supposed to be a place of refuge, the place that people retreat to in times of desperate need, though some people say that that's what insanity is and that it's sad to see someone retreat so far into themselves that they can't hold a regular conversation. I, and I know that Katniss has as well, have learned that the opposite is true. What's sad is having no defence; where even the deep recesses of your mind hold terrible tortures that could any day drive you over the edge.

The moments when I think about this are fleeting, however strong they may be. I see the lush green meadow and the children that begin to play in it. Not ours; no, Katniss isn't ready for that yet, even though I want it. I believe that having a family will make it easier for both of us. The kind of innocence that a child brings with it is something that neither of us have ever known, and I think that it will be good. But if anyone understands her reserves on the matter it's me, and I'm not going to push it.

For the most part, our existence is a happy one. What we are doing is more than mere survival; no longer is life a game. We do what we want, when we want to. No one is herding us into a trap to watch us die. No one tells us what to do and how to do it. No more pretend. I remember a particular conversation on the matter clearly, even if I don't recall the one that led to it.

Katniss had seemed unusually fidgety one evening shortly after my proposal. For all intents and purposes we were already living together; it was just a matter of getting the rest of my stuff over here. There were a few steps in our relationship that we had not taken, but I wasn't worried about that. We both needed to move slowly, even if I've waited my whole life for this girl…this woman…to finally accept me. We were eating dinner in silence but it was not so comfortable as it usually was, and I knew something was up.

"I can survive without you, you know," she finally says, having steeled herself to say something.

The comment is so out of context that it surprises me and I almost choke. It doesn't scare me however; I've learned that trying to figure out the way her mind works is impossible.

"Katniss, I think I know that better than anyone," I answer, watching her intently, carefully.

She shakes her head. "And Gale too. I can survive without him."

I am completely perplexed now, and I make no effort to hide this fact. "What is this all about?" I finally ask after a few moments of intense scrutiny.

She gives me that look that says I should know exactly what she's talking about, but I have no idea. What does Gale have to do with this? She hasn't heard anything about him in months, though I know she could talk to him if she wanted to. A heavy sigh escapes her lips and she shakes her head, pushing her plate away from her even though it's only half finished. "I heard you two talking once, about me. Gale said that I would pick whoever I can't survive without, and you didn't disagree with him."

The tone in her voice tells me that she had been slighted by the comment, and try as I might, this is one thing my brain will not recall. Was it before I lost it on her or after? I decide not to delve into that one, and shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember that." My voice is soft and something in her breaks; she must know that I'm telling the truth and also knows that it could be harmful for me to try and figure it out.

Katniss watches me now for a few moments before responding. "I can survive without either of you, but you, Peeta, you help me to live. That's something that no one else can do." Her steel grey eyes hold mine for a few moments as her words sink in, and then she simply gets up and walks away, leaving me to ponder her words in a rather stunned silence.

We haven't talked about that moment since, but I will never let go of it. That night we clung to each other not out of desperation, but just because the other was there. I didn't have any nightmares that night, and neither did she.

It is those moments that keep me going, knowing full well that she is the same for me. She always says that I am the reason that she got this far, and she's sorry she didn't realise it sooner. What she doesn't know is that the reverse is true. Those times when I was…gone from her were the darkest in my life, and I didn't even understand why. I might be the dandelion to her bleak winter but she is the sun to mine. We are two very imperfect people; the last of a dying breed. Two people that alone wouldn't make it, but together we cling and can hammer out some sort of existence. Like two cripples leaning on each other for support; together we can walk.

Today I am out, and I know that Katniss is too. She is hunting and I am gathering supplies. I still paint, and we've even been able to sell some. Apparently the fact that I am a victor in the arena still makes me popular, especially once the public learned that Katniss and I really did marry. We kept it quiet for a few months but somehow it got out. People want different things when it comes to my art, though my most popular are of the Games themselves. The most horrific are ones the public will never see; not 'til I'm gone from this world. Those are the ones that come out in those moments when I want my old life back. Not one without Katniss; no, never that. I wouldn't trade her for anything. I want the life when I was allowed to think to myself; when my thoughts were private and they were my own, not invaded by anything else. The flashbacks still come, though not as frequently. When they do happen, most times Katniss pretends to not notice, though I see her watching me carefully for a while after one has passed. Every now and then she has to intervene, and I am always grateful. In the very worst I have to force myself to remember that she is my wife and I love her, that this life she has given me is not a lie like my brain wants me to think. These are the things that I hate; these things my mind weaves as a result of the permanent damage that was done.

I haven't had one in almost two weeks, and that puts me in a good mood. I even bring home flowers; plumeria. Springtime and new beginnings, for it is the first day of spring. They don't grow in District 12 but a trader has come through from eleven. They started growing flowers on a commercial scale there in honour of what Katniss did for Rue.

I push through the door of our house. Despite everything we live in the same one in the Victor's row that Katniss did before, with Haymitch still as our neighbour. She says that she shouldn't try to forget everything; President Snow might have been right on some things. But the stench of bloody roses is gone, and that is a good thing because I know it is a great victory for her for it is one of the mind.

After coming through the door I stop a moment when I notice Katniss' bow resting against the wall in the front hall as it was when I left this morning. I also notice her hunting gear is clean and undisturbed; she hasn't left. Immediately I am concerned…Katniss doesn't not hunt when she says that's what she's going to do.

"Katniss?" I call, beginning to feel my heart pound in my chest. Maybe I am overreacting, but after all that we've been through, even so many years later, I can't help it.

There is no response and I am even more worried. She's just gone out to the market, I tell myself, even if I was just there. Maybe I missed her. I was engrossed in what I was doing; it could have happened, even though my gut tells me something is horribly wrong.

I begin to search the house and try not to be frantic about it, though as each room turns up empty I feel my anxiety rising. By the time I get to upstairs I am running, panic seizing me. It is irrational, I know, but when I find her she won't fault me for it. This thought seems to calm me a little and I move to our bedroom, leaving it for last because I am afraid of what I might not find in there, even if it is the most likely place for her to be.

My heart leaps to my throat as I find our bed undisturbed, but the moment is short-lived as I spy a light coming under the cracks in the bathroom that is attached to our room. I stop a moment and hear a small sound; it sounds like she is crying. Despite that, I find myself relieved. I take a few moments to regain myself, then gently pad across the carpet.

I am glad to find that the door is not locked; that would mean she's retreated to a particularly horrid place and it will take some coaxing to get her out of it. I recall how she told me she used to hide in dark places in thirteen, and I almost laugh as I think about the time I found her in behind the washing basin. How she even got in there, I'll never know.

"Katniss," I say gently, opening the door fully to see her curled up against the wall. I know that something is wrong, but I also know that it's nothing I can't get her out of. I have seen her worse. "What are you doing?" Because that's better than asking what's wrong.

She sniffles a few times and shifts to acknowledge that she's heard me, but her arms remain clasped tightly around her knees, which have been drawn up to her chest. My heart breaks as I see her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes…I really do hate seeing her like this, even if I know it won't last. I don't try to guess and instead let her tell me what's going on.

When she says nothing I make my way to her side and draw her into my arms, and she relents. This brings on a new wave of tears and I let her use my shirt to absorb her tears. It is here that I notice that she's clutching a foreign object in her hand. At first I am alarmed; I pray she hasn't hurt herself, but when I notice its clearly plastic and blunt edges I am perplexed instead.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" I ask again, my voice gentle. Coaxing. I need her to communicate with me or else I may find myself in a similar state. I can only be strong for so long if she won't talk.

"Peeta," she says finally, my name choked out in a quiet sob.

I wait, though it kills me. What has plagued my wife in such a way that she has been reduced to this state?

"I'm pregnant," she manages, the sobs coming afresh but then I notice that she's also begun to laugh.

I am stunned to silence, and it is all I can do to keep my arms around her.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey through this pregnancy has been rather interesting. I have never really dealt with a pregnant woman before, and I must admit it is testing me to my core. Sometimes I forget that Katniss hasn't changed; her hormones are just raging out of control and that's something I don't truly understand. I must, however, in order for us to get through this. And we will; we've been through worse. Harder things. This should be a walk in the park.

The day that Katniss told me she was pregnant sticks in my mind. I had wanted children for so long and she refused, citing her fears and reservations. I of all people understood, but I still wanted them. The pregnancy took me as a surprise because we had been careful; the drugs they have these days are one hundred per cent infallible, and that is something that Katniss never forgets to take care of. I knew right away that this pregnancy was no accident; she knew very well what she was doing. I just wish that she had told me that we were finally trying, though I suppose it's funny in retrospect now. She's rather embarrassed about the state that I found her in, and has made me swear never to repeat it to another living soul. At the very least, it's something I can tease her about.

Currently I am sitting on the couch with my wife; the television is on but neither of us is paying attention. My fingers run idly through her chestnut hair and she rests soundly against my chest, legs slung over my lap and her bulging stomach pressing against me. She's eight months pregnant now, though the doctors are keeping a close eye on her. It has been a stressful pregnancy, though it is because of what Katniss puts herself through. I don't blame her, though I do my best to help get her through it. I know now that her distance from me when we were younger, despite all appearances, had less to do with someone else and more to do with her own resolve. Her desire to not subject a child to this world and her resolve to stick it out alone was, initially, what made her keep her distance. Despite everything though, Katniss is human, and she needs company. I know that the thought of her needing anyone is hard for her to swallow, but I think she's come to accept it now.

I feel her tense as there is an unexpected movement, one that is neither she nor I. Honestly speaking, I can feel a little bit of that fear inside of me as well. This child…so innocent and pure, will have no knowledge of the horrors that its parents went through. Katniss and I are so broken…how can we be expected to raise something that has no understanding of the world except that which it is taught? Yes, it will grow into its own person and have its own views, but I fear that this will be jaded by the things learned from us. With that comes fear of the future. Panem is progressing, but things are still frail. Only recently have they instituted this apparently ancient concept called democracy; they say it's a system where the power is in the hands of the people. We are wary of it, but things haven't gotten worse. Still, I do not want my child to grow up in a world where they cannot even close their eyes in waking for fear of the things that they might see.

No, things will not be like that. As long as Katniss and I are alive, however broken we are, we will fight. Now that we have a child on the way, we will fight even harder.

The skin on Katniss' neck and face is flushed and warm, so I move my cool hand to rest against her cheek. She sighs into it, saying nothing for the moment. Sometimes this is enough to stop her from falling into those fears, and tonight I hope it is. I don't want to ruin this moment. She shows no signs of regression, which is a relief, though she does reach around to grab my unoccupied hand and lace her fingers through mine.

"We need to think of a name," I say softly, knowing that even this is difficult ground. However we do need to discuss it, and it will at least distract her.

Her silence tells me that she's thinking about how to respond but isn't sure whether or not this is something she wants to get into right now.

"If it's a boy we should call it Haymitch," I say with a grin.

At this she snorts, and I know things are going to be fine. "I was thinking Gale, actually," she says and I can hear the grin in her own voice. She's not serious; while the man and I are certainly not enemies (especially since he is married now…finally) I do not exactly relish the thought of naming my child after him.

"Haymitch has a better ring to it," I insist, trying to sound thoughtful. I know Katniss doesn't buy it.

"We could name him after your father, or mine. Both are good, strong names." Meaning that she liked both and wouldn't mind the association. Something tells me we won't be naming a child after either of our mothers.

"We could always flip a coin." My intentions are to keep it light for as long as possible, because I do have other intentions. I have the name, if it's a girl, already picked out and I am adamant on it. Not just for me, in fact not for me at all, but for her sake.

"_That_ will be quite the story someday. Our poor son, got his name from a coin toss." I see her wince as she recalls something else…I guess I walked into that one. Coins are obviously out of the question as well.

A light sigh escaped my lips; well, I've done it now. May as well dig myself in deeper. At least she hasn't distanced herself from me physically yet; that's when I know I'm _really_ in trouble.

"If it's a girl, I think we should-"

"Don't. Don't say it," she cuts me off, and I know her eyes are closed. Even after so long, the death of her sister still haunts her.

It isn't that we're not allowed to talk about her. In fact, Katniss and I have had some pretty good laughs talking about the stories, even if I've heard all of them a hundred times. It is therapeutic for her and I will never tire of them. However talking about her sister is one thing; having such an intimate and constant reminder is another entirely.

"Katniss," I whisper, and it takes me seconds to notice the tears sliding down her cheeks, "we should call her Primrose. After your sister." I know she knows what I meant, and who Primrose is to her, but I say it anyways. She needs a different association with that name. Instead of death she needs life. This child will not, after all, be Primrose Everdeen. No, that is someone who will never be replaced. But perhaps Primrose Mellark can bring comfort and healing in a way that no one else has been able to do. To see smiles instead of flames and hear laughter instead of screams when she hears that name will, I believe, do things for her that she can't even imagine.

These are the moments that the world doesn't see; the Katniss that is still broken from her time spent in the Games. Though, I'm certain that the pregnancy hormones aren't helping. I know that the idea isn't completely written off when she still doesn't leave me, and instead sobs quietly in my arms. I feel I might be getting through to her.

"Not a replacement," I whisper softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

She sobs more, but I know that it is not necessarily just sorrow now, just the overwhelming nature of the moment. I don't say anything further and instead hold her, turning my attention outward for a while and realising that the television is still on. The historic programs are running; some old, silly sitcom that they outlawed during a time before anyone can even remember. Someone found an archives filled with documents and recordings…it was the find of the century.

It is movement again that draws me back, and my wife's soft sobs have subsided. She takes our entwined hands and places them on her swollen belly, precisely where the doctor told us we would find our baby's foot. We have chosen to wait to find out whether it is a girl or a boy, mostly for our sanity. The less we know right now, the less we can fret over and imagine.

I feel soft lips pressed against my throat and immediately I know I am forgiven, though I have no idea if I have won. Those kisses continue and I wait until her mouth reaches mine, and in the privacy of our own home and the intimacy of the moment I capture her lips in a way that the cameras will never see. We spend a few moments like this, lips and tongues pressed together while hands remain protectively over our unborn child. In these moments I am more alive than anything I have ever known, for it is here that my world includes only Katniss. No Games, no nightmares, no horrors. Just the woman I love.

She pulls away from me and her steel-grey eyes are shining with tears. There is a soft smile on her face, and I reach up to clear her hair from it.

"Primrose," she whispers gently. I simply kiss her again.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound that I hate most in this world is the sound of Katniss in pain. Her screams cause my head to spin; my throat closes and my vision swims as my body begins to tremble. No…no not now. Not now when she needs me. I am thrown back into the arena, the panic in her voice when things went wrong. I am thrown back to mutts and gas and flowing blood. Cato's mutilated body. Madge convulsing on the jungle floor. Rue's all-too peaceful face as she lay in the pool of her own blood. My mind conjures up images that I suspect are not real due to the shiny quality they carry, but I am reaching the point where that no longer matters. Katniss is gripping my hand and I am clinging to hers in return, my free hand barely holding my body up on the frame of her hospital bed.

There is a sound, then, that breaks through all of it. It is a sound that I have never heard before; not so acutely. It frees me so instantaneously of my nightmares and visions that I am almost left in shock. My wife's screaming voice stops at this sound as well, and I think we are both perplexed. We are both trembling, and for the first time since this all started I can actually manage to look at her. Katniss is pink with exertion and her brow is covered in sweat. Her dark hair had been pulled back but has fallen out in places, sticking to her face. Her breath comes in short pants and her grey eyes are slightly glossed over, though she is fixated on a point in front of her. I turn to see what that is.

My world stops as my eyes land on the sight of our baby. Our daughter. I begin to tremble again, this time not out of terror but with relief. With joy. I had heard stories of people talking about the first time they laid eyes on their first child, but it never hit me until right now. This thing…this little being…is so incredibly fragile that if one were to merely drop her it would mean the end of her short life. I watch as the nurse quickly bundles the screaming baby after cleaning her off; there's so much blood but it doesn't seem to bother me. I am fixated on this tiny, helpless being, and part of me lurches when the nurse momentarily turns her back, hiding my baby from me. She turns back around, however, a bright smile on her face. "Congratulations," she says, but her words barely register.

It is only when Katniss lets go of my hand to reach out to take this newly bundled baby into her arms that I realise I had been clutching her hand this whole time. For a moment I tear my eyes from the tiny wonder and look at her face; I have never seen that look before. She is tired, but there is a light in her eyes that not even I could cause to shine. The soft smile that tugs at the corners of her lips speaks of true peace; of a moment where there truly are no dark shadows lurking in the back of her mind. For a moment I am startled to realise that it is the same for myself; there is nothing on earth that could take this feeling away from me. The flashbacks that had only moments before threatened to plunge me into complete and utter darkness were now nothing more than a fading memory. My heart skips a beat when Katniss finally turns her eyes towards me and I cannot help but smile in return. What a sight we must be, wondering with awe at this little marvel. Idly I note that there are no other sounds in the room; everyone is watching us carefully. I wonder if it's because they are afraid we will snap; everyone here knows who we are. They know what we are capable of, for they would have been forced to watch it. These people of anyone outside would understand the damage that has been done, and I wonder if they fear for our child's life because of it. Quite frankly, I don't care what they think.

Katniss gently reaches up and runs a finger along the side of the baby's pink face. Tiny lips are still open and she screams and cries for reasons that I know she doesn't yet even understand herself. The touch of her mother seems to soothe her some though and she settles to uttering only whimpers and eventually stops crying altogether.

"Primrose," Katniss says gently, using her thumb now to trace the lines of the small face as if to ensure that it really is real.

I cannot explain the feeling that is welling up within me now. In fact, I believe that there are many feelings but I cannot put words to them. Along with the inevitable pride of being a father (my mind still balks at the word) there is fear. What if I am not good enough? I am only now realising how innocent and vulnerable this little human is, what if I am not worthy of raising her? I cannot even save myself most of the time, how can I show a child the right way through the world? What if I do her wrong? I might taint her with the scars of my own mind. She'll have to learn of the Games and she'll have to know the part her parents played in them, but I feel like I don't want her to. And what if I were to do something simple like forget to feed her? Forget that she was sleeping and simply neglect her? There is so much that can go wrong.

The feeling of Katniss gently squeezing my hand pulls me out of this for the moment, but the question she asks has me paralyzed with fear. "Do you want to hold her?"

I stare at her dumbfounded for a moment; I'm not sure I can. "No," I say quickly, though softly. What if I drop her? What if I squeeze too tight? I see a small smirk on my wife's face and I swear I hear a snicker from one of the nurses behind me.

"Wrong answer," she says instead, then gives me no choice and places the bundle into my un-expecting arms.

The fears that I had before suddenly melt away, just as my flashbacks had. As I hold this tiny, fragile being I realise that she holds incredible power. This little Primrose carries with her the ability to chase away the fears and the things that plague our minds. It might not be a permanent fix…but then again, maybe it could be. The power that this little human has already displayed is beyond anything I came across in the arena. For the first time since I can remember, perhaps it is the first time ever, I feel hope. This hope chases away the fears and the pain that comes with it, and I know things will be okay. With one hand I reach up to do what Katniss has done; to stroke her little face. I am smiling uncontrollably now, and my breathing all but stops as a small hand reaches up and grabs a hold of my finger. I inspect the little digits and the miniscule nails; the grip she has is nothing worth noting. But this is my daughter. Katniss' daughter. With this small gesture the hope within me is secured. This truly is a new beginning for us, even more than I have ever anticipated or imagined.

Calmer of the Storm: As far as I am concerned, this story is complete. I realise that there's much more that could be added, but the review response has been lacklustre at best, and while I don't write solely for them I am not currently inspired to write anything further and the lack of demand for anything won't get me to think about things for the future.

Til next time!


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